


With No Thought to Shame

by Rivestra



Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: Aliens Make Them Do It, Bondage, Branding, Community: kink_bingo, Dubious Consent, M/M, Public Claiming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-04-30
Updated: 2010-04-30
Packaged: 2017-10-20 13:09:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,088
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/213104
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rivestra/pseuds/Rivestra
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cam gets himself all tied up on the En’ii home world and needs someone to come claim him home.</p>
            </blockquote>





	With No Thought to Shame

**Author's Note:**

> Much thanks to the ever-marvelous  
> [SnarkGoddess](http://archiveofourown.org/users/SnarkGoddess/pseuds/SnarkGoddess) for the beta. If you simply must know the pairing before you read, peek at the end notes (but you'll be cheating!)

Cameron waited. The lights were bright even through the leather blindfold, and they painted his skin with heat where it was exposed.

Which was pretty much everywhere.

He tried to kneel back, but as he did the metal cuffs bit into his thighs, painfully tight against his flexing muscles. Cam straightened back up too quickly and nearly overbalanced, unable to catch himself easily because of the steel bars spreading him at ankle, wrist and thigh. The metal and chains clinked as he fumbled himself back upright, but the noise wasn’t enough to conceal the flurry of interest from the crowd above him.

He could hear them shifting and whispering to each other all around him, the noise persistent and inescapable. Cam felt their stares sweep across his skin, exposing him and burning hotter than the damn lights. The weight of their interest was thick and oppressive, seeming to suck all the air out of the tiny arena.

Swallowing hard, Cam felt his throat work against the warm metal circling his neck. Suddenly, he couldn’t breathe, his body frantically convinced that the collar was too tight, too restrictive and that he couldn’t draw air into his lungs past it. He tried to reach up for it with his hands, but it was useless. Held apart as they were, he could only get one to his neck at a time and…

Laughter ran through the crowd above him and it cut through his panic. Mockery was familiar. Cam had bucked the odds for most of his life and was used to being mocked for it. He straightened his spine and dropped his hands, letting his knees settle into the sand beneath him and finally coming into a stable stance. He puffed his chest out a bit and knelt tall, no longer trying to hide himself at all.

Panting had dried his mouth, so Cam began to breathe very deliberately through his nose. He allowed himself to wet his lips just once before settling into a stillness that would have made Teal’c proud. The crowd settled back into quiet.

Maybe they’d get bored with him and go away.

And maybe his grand-daddy’s pigs were in training to fly F-304s right now.

Or maybe he shouldn’t have laughed so hard when their En’ii hosts had asked which of his team “owned” him. Then he probably wouldn’t be kneeling here, wondering when one of them – wondering _which_ one of them – was going to come into the arena and lay claim to him… and wondering what the hell they meant by _claim…_

 __Where the hell was the rest of his team, anyway?

His brain danced back, shying away from what it couldn't change. It had to be Daniel though, right? He was the expert in cultures, fluent in ritual and with a bona fide degree in weird shit. Unless Carter…no, she was his second and technically in charge but he didn't think she'd – well, if there was no other way, she'd sure as hell come for him but she'd be bright pink and he was pretty damn sure she'd find ample excuse to send in her anthropologist instead. The idea of Teal'c... just _no._ Cam didn't even want to go there, didn't dare go there now, trussed and exposed and… not that the idea of Jackson arriving to assert his claim was exactly soothing, but… Daniel would know what to do. He'd know how to minimize the damage, both collateral and direct. It _had_ to be Daniel, unless…Cam shivered despite the heat of the lights and nearly toppled over again… No one would be foolish enough to send _Vala_ , would they? He knew she could bluster and con with the best of them but… The damn collar was feeling very tight again, and the whispers from above were gaining volume.

Cam steadied himself through shear will, dragging his attention to his breathing and ruthlessly keeping it there. He kept his focus tight on his breath, losing all track of time and space, feeling only the glare of the lights and the grit of the sand beneath his knees, hearing only his own in- and ex-halations, smelling nothing but his own sweat and the leather of the blindfold and seeing nothing but a deep, unrelenting black.

Time passed, though he didn't know how much. When the hands touched him – a firm but gentle pressure on his shoulders – he jumped. They steadied him and kept him from overbalancing. The hot shine of the lights was replaced by the more gentle warmth of a body along Cam's spine, bare, sweat-slicked skin pressing into him from waist to shoulder. Rough cloth pressed against Cam's ass, and he could tell that whoever was behind him was male and thankfully not too excited by the proceedings.

 _Not Vala then._ A relieved giggle bubbled its way up, but died, stillborn and bitter on his tongue. _What if wasn't his team at all?_ His panic rose again, unbidden and irrational. He started to thrash against the bonds, flailing without plan or design, but the arms snaked around his chest and steadied him, and a mouth leaned in to catch his ear, biting sharply on his lobe.

Cam almost missed the whispered, "Ixnay on the anic-pay, itchell-may," completely, but their hosts didn't.

 ** _"Silence will be maintained until the claiming is complete!"_** rang out across the arena and the crowd hissed its disapproval across the sand.

Pissed he hadn't recognized the voice, Cam was relieved to at least be sure of its planet of origin now. He settled back down and got his breathing under control again. It had to be Daniel.

A low booming thrum began, rumbling upward like it was rising from the sand beneath Cam's knees, so low that he felt it coursing through his bones. Cam trembled with the force of it – in the face of it, in the face of things undeniably _starting_ , whatever that might mean – and the hands on his chest opened flat, fingers splaying against his ribs, palms pressing warm and solid against his side.

They stayed like that for a while, a counterpoint to the beats of the drum, grounding Cam in a way the drumbeat couldn't, even though its pulse pushed everything else away, shoving the crowd and the sand to a place so distant they seemed surreal. Ten beats pulsed through his frame before the hands moved again, tugging him back, into the warm chest behind him.

Cam had to fight not to struggle, to go over easy. Leaning back into a position where he was more exposed than ever, Cam sacrificed the last of his leverage to a whisper of trust. The hands (it was better not to think of them as Daniel's) stroked up and down his chest, soothing until he relaxed into his awkward chair, his legs a useless jumble of bars and chains, his weight supported by the line of the other man's chest.

His options had been limited before but… no way was he getting out of this position on his own. He breathed deeply and tried to focus on the slow glide of the hands on his chest, ignoring the drum as it subtly increased its tempo. The hands jerked at the increase though, and Cam heard a sharp intake of breath from just behind his right ear. Another pounding beat and the hands were moving again, dipping lower and lower, catching hesitantly on the hair above his groin and then diving in blatantly when the tempo increased again.

Cam gasped as one hand closed around his cock. Its partner in crime splayed wide and heavy on his belly, a gentle reminder to stay still. The drum continued its merciless pounding, and Cam couldn't be sure, but it seemed like the beat was increasing steadily now, pushing them faster and faster. The hand moved, dry, calloused skin pulling against the smooth length of his cock, settling quickly into a pulsing pull in time with the drum. Their rhythm crept into his blood, and Cam felt himself start to fill, light headed and dizzy, wide open and completely at the mercy of the ever-building thrum that sang along his nerves and set every bit of him on a razor-thin edge.

Cam held on. Breath harsh and fast, his weight pressed into the body behind him, eliciting a low growl from it (audible above the drum god-only-knew how), and he ground back hard into its telltale lump. Cam kept pushing, the two hands on him bright counterpoints to the deafening roar. The beat tore through him – so fast now – and he rode the wave, the hands playing him in perfect accompaniment, their harmony building and building with the drum until it all suddenly stopped cold.

The quiet was deafening. The whispered, "Now, Cameron," in his ear was louder and more irresistible than anything he'd ever heard before. The instant it hit him, everything burned, fiery pain shooting through him, radiating outward and upward, lifting him upwards with the intensity of it and Cam came and came and came, shooting in long white streams out across the sand

The audience exploded into action, screaming at the top of their lungs, clapping and stomping up a thunderous noise that joined with the renewed drum-beat, thrumming through the arena. Cam's bindings (all except for the damned collar) fell open as the noise reached a crescendo. Suddenly free, he fell awkwardly off his partner, landing face first in the sand. His muscles screamed their misuse at him, and his efforts to right himself only made things worse. He'd eaten quite a bit of sand before he noticed the hand being held out to him.

He took it with no thought to shame, and its strength pulled him up easily.

Once standing, Cam followed the arm up until he found himself looking into General O'Neill's wary eyes. The General watched him carefully, ever-alert to the still-roaring crowd and giving him time to adjust, watching to see if he was going to bolt.

 _Fuck that._ Cam took a step forward, toward the General and home (and hopefully even _clothes_ ), but he didn't get far. As soon as he shifted his weight to move, pain cramped in his hip. It shot down his leg and brought him down to one knee, gasping.

O'Neill closed the distance in a flash, grimacing as he caught Cam up and pulled him standing again. "Let's get you the hell out of here."

Cam stumbled again, hesitating as he caught sight of a dark blur on his thigh. He reached down to touch it, and O'Neill slapped his hand away, hissing, "Leave it! You don't want it to get infected, do you?"

O'Neill glared at him. The man's, "Now shut up, keep your head down, and follow me," was as clear an order as Cam had ever heard. Cam followed the General as he started out across the sand mumbling, "We need to get the hell out of here before they think up another bag of crazy to throw at us."

Half a lifetime of following orders kept Cam's feet moving and his mouth shut even when he noticed the line of five irregular black marks riding just above the General's waistline, welted red and angry-looking. He kept following and kept his head down until they rounded a corner and the roar of the audience was suddenly muffled and distant, then it shot up again of its own volition.

O'Neill hissed, "Mitchell!" but even if he'd had a full lifetime of order-following under his belt, it wouldn't have been enough. No way, no how were his eyes leaving the line of his team in front of him, naked as jay-birds except for their collars. Identical black marks branded into each of their hips, they hung, chained to the wall with their arms held high above their heads,.

They looked good. Cam swallowed convulsively. Healthy…

Before Cam could form coherent words, O'Neill growled, " _Get them down_ ," at the En'ii guards milling uselessly nearby. They hesitated, so O'Neill shouted, "I claimed 'em, so that means they're mine, right?" The guards exchanged nervous glances. O'Neill bellowed, **"GET THEM DOWN!"** and the En'ii scrambled to follow his orders.

As they marched back toward the gate, heads held low and feet as bare as the rest of their bodies, Cam snuck a peek at his hip. It was a little hard to make out around the swelling and on the move, but, really, he already knew what it said.

~fin~

[~ Fic Index on LJ ~](http://rivestra.livejournal.com/5676.html)

**Author's Note:**

> Written for my branding square over on [Kink Bingo](http://kink-bingo.dreamwidth.org/profile). For you peekers, the pairing is Cameron/Jack.


End file.
